


Shifting Assumptions

by NeonPistachio



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Incubus!Lestrade, M/M, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Pining, Sexual Harassment (not from main characters), Shifter!Mycroft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-05-31 21:17:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15128006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeonPistachio/pseuds/NeonPistachio
Summary: Greg's been interested in Mycroft for a while, but thinks Mycroft isn't interested in him.





	Shifting Assumptions

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning for unwanted comments and pushing for sex (not from the main characters). Allusions to further unwanted contact and unsupportive comments.
> 
> ‘Bi and ‘bus are general, gender neutral terms for incubi and succubi.

Greg’s been eyeing the fit blond at the other end of the bar for the last five minutes when his phone rings. Breaking eye contact with the man who’s been eyeing him right back, he reaches down to check it. He doesn’t recognise the number off the top of his head but answers anyway. A police officer’s work is never finished.

‘Lestrade’ he says.

‘Detective Inspector,’ the voice on the other end of the line purrs. Greg suppresses a shiver. Mycroft Holmes. The sexiest man to ever subtly threaten him in a warehouse. As an image of the man saunters into his head, his currently low-grade hunger kicks up a notch.

‘Mr Holmes,’ he replies, doing his best to keep his voice level and not to betray anything. Bloody cats. Everything sounds sensual. ‘What can I do for you?’

‘I would like your help in a small matter. Can you come to my office? I’ll send a car.’ The way it’s phrased makes it sound like Greg has an option to say no but that’s really not the case.

‘Right. I’m not at my flat, I’m-’

‘I know where you are, Detective Inspector.’ Mycroft breaks in. ‘The car will be there in seven minutes.’ He hangs up before Greg can say another word.

Greg slips his phone back into his pocket and downs the last of his pint. The first of the evening, which now looks to be the last and with no chance of anything else either. When he puts his empty glass back down on the bar he finds the man he was eyeing up earlier has moved to stand beside him.

‘Wife?’ he asks, nodding towards the pocket holding Greg’s phone. Greg shakes his head.

‘Work’ he says with a grimace. 

The man nods. ‘You need to head off or can you stay for another?’

Greg hesitates. Seven minutes. He could probably get the man off in the alley beside the pub but it would be too fast to be more than a quick snack and he’d have to go to meet Mycroft Holmes, one of the most observant people in the world, with the evidence of what he’d just been doing written all over him. He’s not ashamed of being an incubus, but he’s attracted to Mycroft as it is and with his appetite whetted but not sated he’d end up coming on to a man who is not only obviously not interested but could have him transferred to the middle of nowhere before he’s left the building. Best not to then. 

‘Sorry, I’ve got to head off. Maybe next time, yeah?’ He gives the man a final once over and slow smile before he grabs his coat and walks to the door. As he steps out into the evening light he makes the first instinctive move towards his pocket for a cigarette, stopping himself almost before he begins. He’s been on the nicotine patches more than two years now but his body still holds the muscle memory of nearly two decades of smoking. 

A black car draws smoothly up a moment later. Greg opens the door and jumps in before the driver can get out to open it for him. The car accelerates again, turning swiftly into a side street to make its way back the way it came. Greg watches the street lights flick past at they glide through the city. In a relatively short length of time the car draws to a halt in front of the familiar, discrete entrance to Mycroft’s office building.

Security as usual squints menacingly at him as he comes in, but Greg has visited often enough that he’s on file and can be let in without confirmation from Mycroft. He’s still escorted to the correct office, he’s not allowed to roam free and he wonders what clearance level he’d need to be allowed to do that.

Mycroft is seated at his desk when Greg’s shown in but he immediately looks up and shuffles the papers in front of him into a pile, setting them aside before rising to his feet. ‘Detective Inspector, thank you for joining me. Would you care for a drink?’

‘Nah, I’m alright, thanks. What did you want to discuss?’

Mycroft waves him towards the seating area in the corner, directing him to the sofa before taking a seat on the adjacent armchair. This close Greg can see the subtly darker stripes to his ginger hair, hinting at the markings he has when shifted.

‘I have a problem I would like Sherlock to investigate but he’s being somewhat… resistant to the idea of accepting work from me. I would be very grateful if you would present it to him and pass his deductions along to me’ 

Greg makes a face. ‘Well, I can try, but he’ll probably figure out it’s come from you. I wouldn’t be surprised if it just sends him into a snit.’

Mycroft’s face is implacable. ‘Try, Detective Inspector.’ His voice drops lower and becomes more intimate. ‘You can be very… persuasive when you wish to be.’

Greg shoots him a hard look. ‘I would have thought you of all people would know better than to believe that rubbish.’

For a moment Mycroft looks startled, then comprehension dawns. ‘Oh no, Detective Inspector, I wasn’t referring to the myth that incubi can cast lures over people. I merely meant that you seem to have managed quite successfully in convincing Sherlock to cooperate with you in the past, even when he was being recalcitrant. I attribute that far more to you patience and willingness to withhold access to cases if crossed than anything to do with your nature.’ He sounds apologetic and Greg believes he means what he says. 

Greg sighs. ‘Alright, I’ll see what I can do. You got the file?’

Mycroft stands and turns to retrieve the folder, looking very much like the cat that got the cream at Greg’s capitulation. Even in his head Greg winces at the cliché. He takes the file as Mycroft hands it to him and flips through it. From the looks of it an employee or colleague of Mycroft’s is being blackmailed over something to do with state secrets and a Russian call boy. The details are vague.

Greg reads on, trying not to pay too much attention to the man sitting adjacent to him and the elegant way he crosses his legs, one foot almost brushing against the fabric of Greg’s trousers. It’s not easy. Even the way Mycroft _breathes_ is making Greg hungrier. Though a ‘bus can normally go at least five days without feeding, meetings with Mycroft usually leave Greg needing to feed sooner rather than later from unfulfilled cravings for the other man. With difficultly Greg wrenches his mind back onto the file. He looks up to catch Mycroft watching him. Greg clears his throat, hoping his thoughts haven’t been written across his face. 

‘Right, so this bloke Carstairs did something he shouldn’t’ve and he’s come running to you when it came back to bite him. You want Sherlock to find out who’s behind it and retrieve the evidence?’ 

Mycroft nods. ‘I would prefer if this could be handled quietly. If it can be done so I will be owed a personal debt along with making sure that certain parties do not realise this information is available. If I instigate a search using my usual resources then the situation will become more complicated, thus I want to use Sherlock. However, with Sherlock refusing to speak to me at the moment it would be extremely helpful if you could convince him for me.’ 

‘I’ll see what I can do. I take it you’ll want me to see Sherlock tonight?’

Mycroft gives a slight smile. ‘While that would indeed be my preference I am aware that Sherlock and Dr Watson are at present busily attempting to break into a warehouse in Peckham in search of – well, it doesn’t really matter. But they are unlikely to take it kindly if you disturb them and they will not be back to Baker street for a while. Besides, though there is a limited window of time it’s not so limited that I can’t avoid alerting others by moving too hastily. I am not the only one with eyes on Sherlock and for him to drop his case and begin to look at mine would do more than raise eyebrows. For the moment you would be better spending your time getting some sleep.’ 

Greg resists the urge to suggest Mycroft comes to help tuck him in. Instead he nods and stands up, taking the folder with him. ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow how I get on.’

Mycroft walks with him to the door. ‘Thank you for your time, Detective Inspector. The car will take you wherever you wish to go.’ 

Making his way back down to the entrance Greg considers where to go next. He could head back to the pub, but it’s nearing last call as it is and by the time he gets there it’ll probably be closed. He’s not hungry enough to go to a ‘bus club. He’d have to be a lot hungrier before he went there. Might as well just go home.

He gives his address to the driver once he reaches the car. They travel swiftly through the night, the roads occupied only by buses and cabs. Greg drifts into a semi doze and is woken by the driver clearing his throat.

‘We’re here, sir.’ Greg shakes himself awake.

‘Right, thanks mate.’ Before he can climb out he’s stopped by the driver’s hand on his arm. Greg looks at him questioningly and the driver gives him a smirk in reply.

‘If you’re hungry… I’m off shift now. I could come up.’

Greg represses a shiver as a wave of distaste sweeps through him. Trying to keep it off his face he shakes his head. ‘I’m OK right now.’

The driver gives him what he assumes is supposed to be a seductive look. ‘You sure? I know Holmes is a right cold bastard. I’d be happy to help you warm up.’ He even goes so far as to lick his lips. He seems to take Greg’s silence as encouragement. ‘C’mon, I bet you’re gagging for it. I’ll give you a good time.’ He gives Greg a lingering once over that makes him want to shiver once more.

Greg doesn’t bother disguising his disgust this time. He gets out of the car. ‘Yeah, no, I’m sure.’ He slams the door closed before the driver can say anything more and hurries to his building. He doesn’t hear the car drive off for a long moment before it pulls away suddenly with a slight squeal of tyres. Greg lets out a breath. This isn’t the first time someone has assumed that just because he’s an incubus he’ll do anyone who offers. This one gave up fairly easily which is better than some. He had to use his handcuffs on one bloke, and he knows succubi have it worse.

When he gets in to his flat he pulls out his phone and sends a text to Mycroft.

_Don’t think too much of your driver’s manners. GL._

It’s five minutes before he receives a reply.

_My sincere apologies, Detective Inspector. This will not happen again, rest assured. MH_

_Good. Next time I won’t be so forgiving. GL_

The reply comes seconds later.

_Having reviewed the footage, I believe you were too forgiving this time. MH_

Reading Mycroft’s text gives Greg a warm feeling that helps chase away the last of the disgust. He doesn’t need Mycroft’s approval, he can fight his own battles, but after a lifetime of people’s reactions being more along the lines of ‘What’s the big deal?’ it’s nice to have someone be indignant for him.

He strips off and falls into bed, pulling the duvet over himself and squashing the pillow into the right shape. He refuses to think about how much better it would be if Mycroft was here too, and how if he was the gut deep longing wouldn’t be gnawing at him. It’s not just sex, it’s intimacy he misses. Though he’s been divorced for almost three years he hasn’t stopped missing having another person in bed with him. He’s better off without her, he knows this, but most ‘bi have as strong a need for intimacy as they do sex energy though they won’t starve without it. 

He drifts off into a slightly uncomfortable sleep with the thought that he’s definitely going to have to feed tomorrow. 

******

He goes to Baker Street first thing in the morning. If Sherlock and John spent all night running round London with no sleep, that’s their fault. He’s hungry enough to put an edge on his patience with Sherlock. 

John opens the door not looking too sleep deprived for once. He takes one look at the folder in Greg’s hand and rolls his eyes.

‘Did you have to? I’ve only just got him to go to sleep.’ The humour in his tone says he’s aware of how that sounds and that he’s not actually annoyed with Greg.

Greg grins. ‘Bloody cats. Mycroft called me away from the pub last night so I’m just here to spread the joy.’

John rolls his eyes again. ‘If that’s from Mycroft don’t let Sherlock know. He’s not speaking to him at the moment.’ He shuffles off towards the kitchen where the kettle has just boiled. ‘Tea?’  
‘Ta. So when did you get in last night?’ John makes to answer but before he can get any words out there’s the sound of footsteps and Sherlock comes thundering down the stairs looking eager. 

‘Lestrade! You have something for me?’

Greg hands him the folder and takes the tea John offers in return. ‘Yeah, landed on my desk this morning. Interested?’

Sherlock flips open the folder and scans the first page. He doesn’t bother to reply to Greg’s query. Greg takes a sip of the tea and sighs. He’s _hungry_ in a way that neither the tea nor the toast he had this morning can touch. He’s got to find someone tonight; he just hopes he gets a chance and doesn’t end up chasing Sherlock round London. 

John sits down in his chair and nods Greg towards the sofa. He sinks down and watches John stretch his legs out, running his eyes along them to rest on John’s compact chest. He’s messed around with John once or twice when time was short and he’s been too busy running after Sherlock to find someone else. Both of them are too hung up on other people to be interested in more than feeding on Greg’s part and tension release on John’s. Greg’s eyes meet John’s over the rim of his mug and John raises an eyebrow. Greg shrugs. If John’s interested, he wouldn’t mind.

Sherlock chooses that moment to throw down the folder in disgust, causing them both to look away quickly. Sherlock catches the movement and studies them for a second before giving a short huff. ‘I thought this came from Mycroft, it’s got his fingerprints all over it. And you’re always hungrier after you’ve seen him. Stop eyeing up John, he’s not interested.’ He smirks at Greg.

John breaks in. ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

Greg has the undivided pleasure of watching Sherlock’s mouth fall open in shock. After all Sherlock’s comments over the years he can’t help enjoying this.

‘Missed that, did you? Obvious really.’ Petty but enjoyable. He pretends not to see the slightly exasperated look John shoots him. Sherlock’s eyes narrow in response and he whips round to stare at John. ‘You said it was a woman!’

Resigned to being dragged into it, John stares back. ‘No, you assumed it was a woman and I said it was none of your business. Which it isn’t. I can sleep with whoever I like.’

Sherlock looks horrified. ‘Not Lestrade! He fancies Mycroft, what does that say about his taste?’

‘Oi!’ Greg breaks in. ‘If you’re just going to insult me I’ll take the case and leave you two to it.’ He makes to stand up. ‘I’ll tell Mycroft you couldn’t manage it, then?’

Sherlock’s attention snaps back to him. ‘I know what you’re doing, but fine. I’ll make enquiries. Discretely,’ he continues before Greg can even open his mouth. ‘I’ll text you if I find anything. Tell Mycroft I’m still not speaking to him. John, I will require your assistance. Wait here til I get dressed and try not to sleep with Lestrade.’ He marches out before either of them can say a word. 

Greg makes a face at his retreating back and looks at John. ‘Sorry mate, didn’t mean to drop you in it.’

John shrugs. ‘It’s not like I was hiding it. Don’t worry about it, he’ll get over it. Or delete it.’ He smiles. Greg claps him on the shoulder and makes his way out of the flat. Once he’s on the street he texts Mycroft. 

_Sherlock’s on the case. I’ll let you know if he comes up with anything. GL_

His phone buzzes as he nears the tube station.

_Thank you Detective Inspector. It is greatly appreciated. MH_

Greg arrives at New Scotland Yard twenty minutes later to find the rest of him team already there and Donovan waiting in his office. He takes one look at her face and knows it’s not going to be a quiet day. ‘What?’

‘Super wants to see you. Budgets or something. And the first lot of performance reviews are on your desk.’ At Greg’s groan she smiles in sympathy. ‘Coffee on your desk too, and you’ve got half an hour before you’re due upstairs.’ She walks out. 

Greg buries himself in paperwork and refuses to think about Sherlock and John out investigating. He doesn’t know if he wishes he was with them out of boredom or worry. 

Lunch brings a sandwich and no respite from the paperwork if he wants to leave at a decent hour. He texts Sherlock to ask how it’s going and gets no response. When his next two texts get no reply either he gives in and rings John.

John answers out of breath and tells him they’re on the trail. They’ve been to Carstairs’ house (Greg doesn’t ask if they broke in and John doesn’t volunteer) and Sherlock spoke to his ex-wife under the guise of an insurance adjuster. They’ve not yet found who’s behind it but Sherlock seems to think they’re closing in. At this point Greg hears John swear and there’s a sound as though the phone has been dropped before Sherlock comes on the line.

‘Lestrade! Why are you calling John? We’re in the middle of a case!’

‘Yeah, I know, I gave it to you. I was just checking in since you weren’t answering my texts.’ Greg squints at his phone in bemusement. There is silence on the other end for a moment. 

‘Fine,’ Sherlock huffs. ‘I’ll answer you but leave John alone.’ The line goes dead. Before Greg can feel more than mild irritation his phone rings again. It’s John.

‘Sorry about that, Sherlock’s being a prat.’ The last part is louder, obviously directed towards Sherlock himself. John’s voice lowers again. ‘Seriously though, he’s acting strangely. He actually tried to rub his face on my coat earlier. Dunno what’s up with him.’

An idea pops into Greg’s head and he can’t stop himself from grinning. ‘John, you know Sherlock’s a jaguar, right?’

John snorts. ‘As if I could forget, what with him lounging about on the couch, sharpening his claws on the legs and leaving black fur everywhere.’

‘Yeah, and how do cats mark their territory?’

John sounds confused. ‘Pissing on it?’ 

Greg rolls his eyes. How can John have lived with Sherlock for so long without knowing some basics about his biology? ‘And they also rub the scent glands on their faces on things to mark them.’ He waits a beat. ‘Things, or people.’

He can almost hear the light bulb click on in John’s head. ‘You mean… Sherlock, you tit!’ The line goes dead again and Greg can only imagine the scene. Serve Sherlock right for his comments on Greg’s… thoughts about Mycroft. Greg know John’s been lusting after Sherlock for a while so if Sherlock’s finally making a move it’s only fair that John recognise it for what it is. Greg settles back into the land of paperwork.

******

He gets a brief text from Sherlock around six to say he’s narrowed it down to two people and should know the culprit soon. Greg’s not far from being finished with the budget paperwork so he passes this on to Mycroft and dives back in. He’s surprised when minutes later his phone rings. It’s Mycroft.

‘Detective Inspector.’ The greeting is no less a purr than the previous evening. 

That voice. He’s too hungry for this. ‘Mr Holmes.’ 

‘Have I caught you at a bad time?’ There is a hint of concern in his voice.

‘Nah, just paperwork. Have you heard from Sherlock?’

‘I have not. I take it from your message that things are going apace?’

Greg fills him in on what little he knows. Mycroft hums. ‘Would you care to join me in my home for dinner, Detective Inspector? I anticipate that Sherlock will be calling with an update in the next couple of hours and I would appreciate your input how to bring this to a conclusion.’

Greg’s torn. On the one hand, dinner with Mycroft would be an exercise in frustration and self control and Greg will be incredibly wound up and hungry by the end. On the other hand, it’s Mycroft. In his home. There’s a small, pathetic part of him that imagines Mycroft might be inviting him there for more than dinner. In the end it’s no contest really.

‘What time?’

‘I’ll send a car. Would half an hour be enough time to finish anything pressing?’ Greg doesn’t think he’s imagining the pleased note to Mycroft’s voice. He assesses the pile of paperwork left. 

‘Make it an hour, if that’s OK?’

‘That’s perfectly acceptably, Detective Inspector. I shall see you then.’ 

Greg doesn’t recognise the driver who picks him up in front of New Scotland Yard. It’s a young woman this time and sitting in the back seat Greg can feel the slightly numb sensation of another ‘bus in the vicinity. Greg’s sure this is Mycroft’s silent apology for the previous driver’s behaviour. 

Contemplating his destination Greg isn’t sure what to expect from Mycroft’s home. His office and his rooms at the Diogenes are almost polar opposites of each other. Either could be his preferred decorating style. The modest, three story white painted town house the car drops him off at doesn’t offer any hints, its facade as blank as Mycroft at his most inscrutable. 

The black front door opens before he’s up the steps and Anthea steps out. She doesn’t seem aware of him other than to avoid walking into him. She gets into the car he just left which pulls away immediately.

Greg steps into the foyer and closes the door behind him. He can’t imagine Mycroft is unaware of his presence. Looking around, the short hall seems fairly impersonal, doors interspaced along cream walls and side tables between them, a single plant on each table. It feels somewhat like an upscale hotel. He walks forward, drawn on by the smell of food. He can’t quite place it but whatever it is smells delicious. He reaches the door at the end of the hall that the smell seems to be emanating from. When he enters the room he realises two things almost simultaneously: he’s in a library, and the smell isn’t coming from food. Well, not human food.

Mycroft is sitting on a small sofa beside an unlit fireplace. He’s wearing a crisp white shirt and pale grey waistcoat but the jacket and tie are missing and the first two buttons of the shirt are undone. To Greg’s hungry body he smells fantastic, complex and dark and _dangerous_. Mycroft obviously spends a lot of time in this room as the very walls seem to be impregnated with his scent.  
Greg can imagine it, Mycroft fully shifted and lounging by the fire, the light from the flames dancing off his coat and highlighting the orange stripes, turning them to bright warm gold. What he wouldn’t give to be able to join that scene and have Mycroft possessively scent marking him as Sherlock does to John.

He represses a shiver as Mycroft’s scent seems to strengthen, winding round him and heating his blood. Mycroft’s not interested, Greg _knows_ he’s not interested, they’ve known each other for years, if he was interested he’d have said something by now.

Fiercely ignoring his thoughts he clears his throat and returns Mycroft’s greeting. ‘I can’t stay too long,’ he adds, ‘I’ve got some stuff to do later.’ _Like go to a bar and find someone to help me drown out the thoughts of you unbuttoning your shirt, you sexy bastard._

At his words, Greg imagines he sees a small flicker of disappointment in Mycroft’s eyes but his expression smooths over again almost instantaneously. Mycroft stands.

‘Very well then, shall we adjourn to the kitchen? I believe there should be a meal waiting.’ Mycroft leads the way out of the room and back along the hallway to the kitchen. Compared to the library which was all honey coloured wood and leather furniture the kitchen is far more sleek, modern without being sterile, but a room that says ‘functional’ with every line and surface. Mycroft opens the fridge and pulls out two plastic containers. One seems to be a sauce of some kind and the other looks to be rice. Mycroft smiles apologetically. ‘I hope you don’t mind that it’s just curry, I don’t usually entertain at home and I didn’t have time to have anything else made up. I normally just microwave what my housekeeper makes.’

Inwardly boggling at the thought of Mycroft Holmes using a microwave and fighting off thoughts of the meal Greg would like to make of him, it takes Greg a minute to respond. ‘Yeah, that sounds good.’ He gives a slightly embarrassed smile as his stomach lets out a gurgle. ‘Really good, actually.’ Mycroft smiles in return and turns to get the food heated.

‘Beer?’ Mycroft offers as they wait for the microwave. Greg desperately wants one but lowered inhibitions around Mycroft won’t help him and he needs every advantage he can get. Reluctantly he shakes his head. 

‘Nah, I’m alright thanks.’ Mycroft nods and they end up lapsing into silence. When the food is heated they carry it through to the dining room that sits across from the kitchen. Once seated, Mycroft speaks. ‘I must apologise for my driver’s conduct yesterday. It was inexcusable behaviour, Detective Inspector, and I am deeply sorry that you had to experience it. That man is no longer in my employ.’ Mycroft’s face is stony, every inch the ruthless predator.

Greg swallows the bite of curry in his mouth. ‘Yeah. Not keen on the ‘’bi will sleep with anyone’ line. Most of us are as monogamous as anyone else but you can’t be in a relationship constantly. And then lots of people won’t date us ‘cos they think we’ll cheat. Hell, my ex used that excuse to cheat on me for years. So they won’t date us ‘cos we need sex energy but they still love the idea that we’ll sleep with them whenever they want. Most of us would prefer a night on the sofa watching TV, but no, everyone assumes we want sex. And it doesn’t help with all those stupid porn fantasies of desperate ‘bi up for anything.’ Caught in his rant it takes Greg several seconds to realise that he’s complaining about porn to Mycroft Holmes. Very professional, that. The man asked him to dinner to discuss how deal with a blackmailer. 

Greg focuses on his meal. ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to go off on you. Pet peeve of mine.’

Mycroft hums. ‘I would think it would be a little more than a peeve, people making baseless assumptions about your personality from stereotypes. I have faced the odd groundless prejudice for my own nature but I can imagine you have faced far more in your time, Detective Inspector.’  
He can say that again. Greg’s had more than one accusation of sleeping his way to promotion from colleagues, joking and not. He got where he is by hard work and long hours but in the face of his nature that goes by the wayside. 

‘Greg, please, Mr Holmes. We’ve known each other long enough.’

Mycroft’s smile goes very catlike for a moment. ‘Then please Gregory, do call me Mycroft.’  
_Oh Jesus._ The way his name sounds coming out of Mycroft’s mouth elicits a feeling like fingers caressing up his spine. Greg lets out a heavy breath. That sound is going to linger in his mind when he next feeds. He can’t bring himself to meet Mycroft’s eyes, knowing his pupils will be blown with desire. The scent coming off Mycroft seems hotter now, though it’s probably Greg’s imagination. The tension in the room seems to heighten.

_He’s not interested! You’re just hungry,_ he tells his brain fiercely. He takes another bite of his curry. It really is excellent. He says as much to Mycroft. 

Mycroft agrees. ‘Aisha is an excellent cook. I rarely eat as well when I have to travel for work. So many hotels and conferences eschew local food for international haute cuisine. It begins to blur together after a while.’

‘Well, I don’t know much about internation haute cuisine but I know most of the hole in the wall restaurants in the central London area. You ever want to try some of the best Moroccan food in London I can recommend a place.’

They discuss restaurants and dining for a while, Mycroft offering stories of some of the dishes he has been given on his travels. Greg is both disgusted and delighted by the idea of snake kebabs.

‘Did you really eat them?’ He can’t imagine it.

‘Of course, Gregory. It would be rude to decline your hosts food. And often it’s used as a way to try to unsettle the soft diplomat. Taking the challenge gives you an advantage, psychologically and diplomatically.’

Greg greatly enjoys the idea of Mycroft showing the doubters what’s what. ‘Have you ever had to drink one of those bottles with the worm in the bottom?’

Mycroft gives a devilish smirk and opens his mouth to reply but before anything more can be said Greg’s phone rings. He fumbles for it, pulling it out and checking the screen. John. He answers with a surge of disappointment. ‘Lestrade.’

‘Greg, hi. Sherlock’s found the blackmailer. Guy called Murchison, has a flat in Canary Wharf.’

Greg pulls the phone away from his mouth and looks at Mycroft. ‘Sherlock’s says it’s a guy called Murchison and he’s in Canary Wharf. What do you want them to do?’ Before Mycroft can answer a muffled voice comes through the phone, Sherlock’s by the sound, then John’s back. ‘Sherlock says Murchison doesn’t seem to be moving again tonight.’ Greg passes this on to Mycroft.

Mycroft’s eyes flicker. ‘Get the address. I’ll put Anthea on surveillance until tomorrow. This presents additional complications. Murchison is too slippery not to have set up caches to be released if he vanishes, and even if Carstairs does as he’s told Murchison will likely sell the information on anyway. Sherlock needs to find the caches, remove them and find out who Murchison is selling the information to and where.’

Greg passes this on to John. ‘How’s Sherlock doing? Still scent marking you?’ He grins when John swears at him and hangs up. At Mycroft’s questioning look he explains.

‘Sherlock didn’t know that John and I… blew off some steam together. He didn’t like that idea and spent the morning rubbing his face on John and warning me to keep away.’

Mycroft raises an eyebrow. ‘And you don’t mind his behaviour?’

Greg tries to explain. ‘It’s not about me being an incubus, it’s about someone John sees a lot having a connection with him that Sherlock doesn’t. Sherlock’s just jealous of John and doesn’t want to share. It’d be the same if I was a human or another shifter.’

There seems to be a hint of approval in Mycroft’s expression as he appraises Greg. ‘I read it the same way Gregory. Sherlock never was very good at sharing anything he saw as his. I am the same. It is rather one of the ways that our shifter side comes through. Cats can be very possessive.’

Greg swallows. That doesn’t sound much like a bad thing. _He can possess me anytime,_ the traitorous part of his brain thinks. Greg squashes it quickly. This is getting ridiculous. He needs to get out of here before he does something he’d regret.

‘Right, you’ve got the address and Sherlock’s got his orders,’ they share a grin at the thought of Sherlock following orders, ‘so if there’s nothing else I’ll head out. Early start tomorrow.’ He glances at his watch. It’s later than he though. He’s going to have to hurry to make it before the pub closes.  
He looks back at Mycroft to see the tail end of some expression leave his face. Mycroft’s next words don’t give any hint of what it was.

‘Very well Gregory. Thank you for your assistance in this matter so far. If you have no objections I would appreciate it if you would be on hand for the meeting tomorrow between Murchison and his buyer. Sherlock will no doubt let you know the details to be passed on to me.’

Greg agrees and Mycroft shows him to the door. There is a car waiting though Greg doesn’t remember seeing Mycroft alert the driver. He bids Mycroft goodnight and hurries out to it. He gives the driver, the same young woman as earlier, the name of a pub near his flat where he’s something of a regular. Fatigue is beginning to hit him now and he struggles not to fall asleep as the car makes its way through the streets. They arrive quicker than he expected and he thanks the driver and climbs out. 

When he walks in to the pub his heart sinks. It’s eleven on a Wednesday night and the only drinkers left are either so sloshed that coherence is going to be an issue, never mind consent, or are regulars a good fifteen years older than him and he’s not that hungry. He decides to cut his losses here and try somewhere else.

The next place initially seems to be same story but there’s a group in the corner who don’t seem out of it, work colleagues by the looks of it. He makes his way to the bar and orders a half pint then turns to check the group out. Almost immediately one of the women catches his eye and winks at him. He grins back. Mycroft may not be interested, but he’s still got it. 

It’s not long before she breaks away from her group and makes her way to the bar, coming to stand beside Greg. She smiles at him. ‘Hi, I’m Lena.’

‘Greg. Can I get you a drink?’

She nods and turns to the barman. ‘Rum and coke, please.’ He pours it and takes the money from Greg, moving away after. Greg tilts his head towards the group she’d come from. 

‘Here with friends?’ 

Lena pulls a slight face in reply. ‘Nah, work thing. Marguerite’s leaving do. What about you? What’s a good looking guy like yourself doing on his own?’

Greg feels a slight twinge of guilt. He really wishes he _wasn’t_ on his own. ‘Just stopped in for a drink, see if I might meet anyone interesting.’ No matter that he’s just _left_ the most interesting person he knows. Tongue in cheek he adds, ‘Know anyone who fits that description?’ 

She laughs then straightens her face. ‘Well, there might be one or two people here. Want me to introduce you?’

Greg smiles back. ‘Nah, I think I’ll stick with the one I found already.’

Lena moves closer and puts her hand on his arm. ‘Well then I’ll have to make sure to do something interesting to keep your attention.’

It’s going well but Greg doesn’t want to give any false impressions. ‘Well, I’m an incubus, so there’s something interesting for you. Got something to top that?’ It wouldn’t be the first time someone was put off by that. Lena doesn’t seem to be. She leans closer. 

‘Really? We’ve got a succubus at work, but I’ve never seen an incubus before.’

Greg ignores the little voice in his head that thinks _We’re not collectables!_ He leans closer. ‘Well, you’ve met one now. What do you think of that?’

She looks at him for a long moment, trailing her eyes up and down his body. ‘I think I’m hoping your place is close by. That interesting enough for you?’ 

A wave of relief hits him. He won’t have to try and find someone else. ‘I’d say that’s very interesting. It’s not far, just a couple of minutes. I can give you the address if you want to leave it with one of your friends.’

Lena smiles. ‘Well, aren’t you a gentleman. Text it to me and I’ll forward it. That way I’ll have your number too.’ Greg does as he’s asked and she leave for a moment to fetch her coat while he waits by the door.

As they step out Greg’s hand goes to his pocket for a cigarette before he stops himself. Lena catches the action and offers him a commiserating smile. ‘Quitting smoking?’

Greg nods. ‘Two years now. Still miss them most days.’

Lena makes a sound of agreement. ‘Five years for me. I tried before but it didn’t take.’ They pass under a street light as she speaks and she turns to him with a rueful smile. The light breeze flips her hair into her face and as she reaches to push it back the light catches and shines off something on her hand. Greg stops.

‘Are you married?’ He can’t believe he didn’t notice the ring before. Lena looks at him, puzzled. 

‘Yes, but what does that matter?’

Greg feels cold. ‘I don’t sleep with anyone who’s married.’

Lena laughs disbelievingly. ‘You’re an incubus! What do you care?’

Greg steps back. ‘I might be an incubus but I’m still a decent person. I don’t sleep with married people.’

She throws up her hands. ‘Seriously? Fine, whatever, it’s your loss. I though an incubus wouldn’t care but obviously I found the only one that does. Enjoy feeling smug.’ She turns and walk off.

Greg shakes his head. Stupid of him. Usually he checks for a ring but tonight he was distracted by thoughts of Mycroft.

He makes his way back to his flat and slumps onto the couch. God, he hates it when someone tries to use the fact that he’s an incubus to cheat on their partner. He didn’t like it before his wife cheated on him and he likes it even less now. 

A thought hits and he fumbles for his phone. It feels cheap to use a friend like this but he’s getting pretty desperate and John can always say no with no hard feelings. 

The text he sends is answered by a phone call within minutes. ‘Hi Greg, something wrong?’

‘No, everything’s fine. How’s Sherlock?’ John’s either going to need a break from an overly affectionate flatmate or have finally made a move on said flatmate.

‘Sherlock? He’s, uh...’ Greg can almost feel the force of John’s embarrassment through the phone. 

‘Still scent marking you?’ Greg tries to inject some humour into his voice. No point letting on how bad his night’s going. 

‘Well, right now -’ There’s a thumping noise and a cry of ‘Hey!’ then Sherlock’s on the line. 

‘Lestrade, stop calling John. John’s my human!’ Greg can hear the slightly distorted sound to Sherlock’s speech that means his canines have extended and he’s close to shift. Right. Usually Sherlock doesn’t get this wound up unless he feels Anderson is being particularly stupid. Maybe John’s not the best person to be calling right now.

‘Ok Sherlock, I won’t call John. Just be careful, John’s not as strong as you are.’ An enraged and possessive jaguar in full shift is nothing to be trifled with. 

‘I would never hurt John. John’s my human!’ Sherlock sounds outraged at the mere thought. Greg grins. 

‘Right, sorry, of course you wouldn’t. I’ll speak to you tomorrow.’ He might need to remind Sherlock he’s supposed to be finding out who Murchison’s selling secrets to. Greg ends the call and drops his phone on the seat next to him. He’s really hungry; he probably should get up again and go to a ‘bus club. 

He doesn’t move. He’s got nothing against ‘bus clubs, he’s used them in the past. It’s just so impersonal, people going there to pick up a ‘bus or meeting to have sex with the thrill of knowing that ‘bi are feeding off the energy. He knows several ‘bus/’bus couples who use them to feed as well as a few ace and aro ‘bi, but it’s just not his thing. He wants the full experience of having a partner.  
Still, beggars can’t be choosers and with his luck at the moment he’s definitely in the beggars column. He just doesn’t have the will to get up and go out again. He can make it one more day. He’ll go tomorrow.

******

Tomorrow rolls round with the same start as the day before. He wakes up tired with a gritty, bone deep exhaustion and lack of energy that won’t lift no matter how much coffee he drinks. There’s a deep, gnawing hunger too that lets him know he has to feed tonight or he’ll do something he’ll regret. Last time it got this bad he ended up hitting on Donovan. Luckily for him she’s enough of a professional not to let it impact their working relationship and enough of a friend that she’s never told anyone. She’d stuck him in a panda car and driven him to a ‘bus club and beyond his heartfelt thanks and a joke or two they’ve never mentioned it since.

The performance reviews eat up his morning but he does make time to call Sherlock. After last night it probably wouldn’t be a good idea to call John. To his surprise it’s John who answers the phone.

‘Sherlock’s busy looking for Murchison’s stashes. I’ll get him to text you or Mycroft when he finds something.’ The end of the sentence breaks off into a yawn. Despite his exhaustion Greg smirks. 

‘Kept you up all night with his scratching and yowling did he?’ Greg can hear the grin in John’s voice as he replies.

‘Well, now you mention it...’

Greg makes a face. ‘Yeah, keep it to yourself mate.’

John gives an evil chuckle. ‘He’s really flexible too, does this thing -’ 

Greg breaks in. ‘Ok, too much information, stop there please. I don’t want to think about Sherlock like that.’

John’s next words sound incredulous. ‘You’ve never fancied it with him?’

Greg shudders. ‘No thanks, he’s definitely not my type. Still, more power to you for finally getting what you want.’ John hums in contented agreement and Greg can almost feel the waves of satisfaction and lust rolling off him even through the phone. His stomach rolls and tightens with emptiness. 

As the day wears on Greg can tell when he reaches the stage of being hungry enough to start emitting pheromones. Acting like a mild stimulant, famished ‘bi put them out unconsciously to attract attention and hopefully a partner. Greg never usually lets it get this bad. He’s almost tempted to sneak out and find someone on his lunch break but that would be fulfilling all the stereotypes he hates so much so he grits his teeth and keeps on working. The ‘bus clubs won’t be open this early in the day and would probably be deserted even if they were. He really should have gone last night but he can make it til this evening. In the meantime he just has to ignore the looks from his team.

He’s roughly halfway through the performance reviews when he gets a text from Sherlock. 

_Information retrieved. Murchison selling to Mossad. 6pm Limehouse Basin. SH_

Mossad. Shit. That’s almost certainly not his division and Mycroft will probably want his own people in on it. He phones Mycroft.

‘Gregory, I take it you’ve heard from Sherlock.’ Mycroft sounds pleased to hear from him. A wave of dizzy, heady pleasure spills over Greg at the thought. 

‘Uh, Yeah, he’s found the stuff Murchison hid and he says Murchison’s selling it to Mossad. The drop’s at six tonight, Limehouse Basin.’

‘Mossad. I wasn’t aware Murchison had contacts there. This could provide a unique opportunity. I shall look into this and get back to you.’ He hangs up without another word. Greg huffs and goes to get another coffee.

Mycroft calls back twenty minutes later. He’s all business this time. ‘Gregory, Sherlock is still not taking my calls. Please convey to him that he must keep watching Murchison for the moment and join us at the Basin at four. I have contacted your superiors and informed them that I will be seconding you in into a sensitive operation. A car will pick you up at 3.30. Make sure to bring your badge and handcuffs.’

Greg sighs. No chance of feeding before then. ‘Are you sure you need me? You don’t want your own people dealing with Mossad?’

‘I will be bringing my own people but I want this done as quietly as possible and you will be an asset in helping things run smoothly.’

‘Alright, I’ll be there. See you then.’

‘See you soon Gregory.’ Sherlock texts an affirmative in reply to Greg’s instructions from Mycroft and then there’s nothing to do but wait and keep on with the paperwork.

As the time draws nearer it becomes harder and harder for Greg to focus on his paperwork. Hunger pangs and thoughts of Mycroft battle for space in his head. There’s no way he can feed right now and with Mycroft there and Greg putting out pheromones this whole thing is going to end up a spectacular mess. 

At one point Donovan comes in with forms to be signed and Greg can practically feel her every move he’s so aware of another being in his space. As she leaves again she gives him a hard look. ‘Sir, if I have to drag you to a club again I’m not going to be so forgiving this time.’ Greg mutters that he’ll take care of it and she walks out with a last stern glare.

The car arrives for Greg at 3.30 precisely. Mycroft is waiting in the back seat. As Greg climbs in and closes the door he hears Mycroft take in a harsh breath. Christ. He can’t look at him; the superficial signs of interest would feel like a cruel mockery of what Greg really wants. Mycroft’s made it clear he’s not interested in him like that.

Mycroft shifts in his seat. ‘Gregory, are you quite well?’

Embarrassment rolls over Greg. ‘Yeah, just left it a bit too long since feeding. I’ll hit a ‘bus club once we finish with Murchison. I’ll be OK til then.’

Mycroft’s hum in reply sounds more disbelieving than accepting but he doesn’t push the issue. Greg heaves a silent sigh of relief and leans back in his seat. The journey doesn’t take too long, rush hour hasn’t started yet and they arrive at Limehouse Basin earlier than Greg expects. Sherlock and John are waiting. 

‘Mossad has a flat here, registered to a businessman based in London but with strong ties to Israel. Block D, 9th floor. There’s no one there at the moment but I expect someone to arrive in the next thirty minutes.’ Sherlock doesn’t seems to know whether he’s ignoring Mycroft or Greg more and ends up addressing his information to Anthea who has appeared beside them.

Mycroft and Anthea share a look and she turns to her blackberry. After a moment’s typing she informs them that there is a flat on the second floor that should be empty as the owners are out of the country. Greg doesn’t even want to imagine the resources needed to find that information in such a short space of time.

The flat is empty, both of people and much of the furniture. Greg’s never been a fan of minimalist decorating. Anthea placed cameras outside the entrance to the building and in the lift, and the feeds show on the laptop she brings out. They wait in near silence for a bit. The hunger pangs are beginning to make Greg restless. He’s hyper-aware of every breath Mycroft takes, every twitch of his fingers and flex of his muscles. To a lesser degree he can feel the same from Sherlock, John and Anthea.

Thankfully it’s not too long before a man and woman show up, dark business suits and sensible shoes. Anthea ID’s them straight off. Mycroft’s answering grin sends a shiver down Greg’s spine. There’s a lot of teeth in it.

‘Murchison had no Mossad contacts until now, this is the first time they’ve met him. This plays perfectly to our advantage.’ Smug satisfaction, as bad as Sherlock on his worst day rings in Mycroft’s voice. Greg suppresses a growl. Even that’s attractive. They watch the agents get into the lift and ascend to the 9th floor. Anthea returns to her blackberry for a moment then tells them one of Mycroft’s people will be arriving shortly.

Greg’s aware on a subconscious level of how many pheromones he must be emitting and how the effect is heightened in the enclosed space but it’s not until the agent walks in the door and Greg sees his pupils immediately dilate that he becomes aware of how concentrated they must be.

‘Right,’ Greg mutters. ‘I’ll be outside.’ He slouches over to the balcony and manages to get outside after only a brief struggle with the doors. Leaning on the railing he wishes desperately for a cigarette.

He can hear footsteps nearing and then Mycroft joins him. ‘Are you sure you’re quite alright, Gregory?’ The concern in his voice is palpable. 

Greg nods. ‘Yeah, I’ll be fine. Should’ve gone to a ‘bus club last night. I’ll hit one after we finish here.’ He smiles at Mycroft. ‘So what’s the plan, we grab Murchison when he shows up?’

Mycroft tilts his head to the side in agreement. ‘Partly, but there is a unique opportunity to spread a little misinformation here. Parker, who just arrived, looks rather like Murchison and with some slight cosmetic alterations and perhaps some coaching on body language from Sherlock he should be able to pass as Murchison and give them altered documents instead of the real thing. Once Murchison arrives you and Dr Watson will collect him as quietly as possible and Parker will take his place.’

Greg grins. ‘You sly cat. Why me and John?’

Mycroft gazes out over the water. ‘Sherlock and Anthea are too well known as ‘my people’ for Murchison not to run on sight. We would catch him of course, but the opportunity would be lost. You and Dr Watson will be far more discrete.’

They stand side by side on the balcony for a while, enjoying the quiet. Mycroft makes a comment about one of the boats below and they chat, talking peacefully about nothing much. There’s nothing to be done at the moment but wait.

After a while Anthea’s voice from inside breaks the spell. ‘Sir, Murchison has been sighted on Northy Street. He appears to be casing the area.’

Mycroft moves back inside and Greg follows. In the flat, Parker, who’s complexion seems to have darkened slightly, is talking to Sherlock and Greg hears something about posture and shoes. He’ll leave them to it.

Greg walk over to where Anthea, Mycroft and John are standing in front of the laptop. The feed from the front door camera has been joined by another feed, CCTV by the angle, showing a dark haired man walking casually along a street. He walks out of view and the feed shifts to a different camera a moment later to follow the man as he walks on.

Mycroft fills John in on the plan. John and Greg will catch Murchison, either on the stairs or in the lift, distract him and knock him out then bring him back to the flat they are occupying. Parker will be waiting on the 7th floor to take his place. 

They continue to watch as Murchison wanders through Ropemakers field, stopping to gaze around every so often. If Greg didn’t know better he’d think Murchison was either lost or a tourist enjoying London for the first time.

Sherlock and Parker join them as Murchison makes his way onto Basin Approach then Parker leaves to wait on the 7th floor. Murchison veers off for a moment to stop and watch the boats in the marina before he moves towards the building. As the camera Anthea placed picks him up Greg and John head to the front door and out into the hall. After a second the lift display shows progress and John hits the button to call it to their floor. ‘I’ll distract, you grab him?’ Greg suggests. John nods.

The doors open to reveal Murchison who looks briefly annoyed by the intrusion. Greg and John, chatting casually about football and paying no attention to Murchison, join him in the lift, hitting the button for the 7th floor. 

In the cramped space Greg can feel as his pheromones begin to affect Murchison. He shifts and licks his lips, eyes darting from Greg to John in the reflection on the brushed steel door. Greg looks over casually and smirks. 

‘Sorry mate, bit hungry. Fancy a go?’ As a distraction it works perfectly. Murchison’s attention snaps to Greg, a surprised look flaring over his face and in that moment of shock John grabs him in a sleeper hold. Greg catches his arms as they fly up and in seconds Murchison is unconscious. When the doors open on the 7th floor, Parker helps them carry Murchison out before taking his coat, handing them a memory stick from the pocket and walking into the lift. The door closes and he’s away. 

Greg handcuffs Murchison in case he comes round then he and John manage to carry him down the stairs unseen, though Greg has his badge handy just in case.

Once they’re back in the flat it’s just a matter of waiting. Though it was only a short burst of exertion Greg feels completely drained. At this rate someone will have to carry him into the club. He slumps on the sofa and closes his eyes. A minute later he feels someone sit beside him and opens them again. John’s holding a cereal bar out to him and looking concerned. ‘When did you last feed?’

Greg takes the bar but doesn’t unwrap it. It won’t do much for him. ‘A week. Haven’t had a chance in the last couple of days.’ He gazes at John. He’s not who he really wants, he’s not Mycroft, but he’s close by and familiar. Almost without realising he reaches out and puts his hand on John’s thigh.

A second later Sherlock is there, pulling John away and snarling at Greg. ‘Stay away from John! He’s mine! You’ve been panting after Mycroft for ages, bother him instead!’

Mortification swamps Greg. Not only is he hitting on a friend again, the man he’s been half in love with for ages must now know how pathetically gone Greg is for him. 

‘Sherlock!’ Mycroft’s voice rings out. Sherlock turns on him.

‘Oh don’t act so outraged, Mycroft. You’ve been equally pointlessly pining.’

Awkward silence descends. Greg can see John making his ‘bit not good’ face at Sherlock. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him, that he could burst into flames, run away without potentially alerting Mossad to something being up. In the absence of this he chooses to close his eyes again and pretend he’s invisible.

Eventually Anthea turns to Mycroft. ‘Sir, Parker has left the building and indicates that all is well. Once the Mossad agents depart it won’t be long before we can leave.’ Greg realises she must have added that for his benefit. He opens his eyes and shoots her a weary smile of thanks.

It’s not much longer until the Mossad agents leave. Shortly after, Mycroft joins Greg on the sofa. ‘My driver will take you to the nearest club once we have finished. I apologise for Sherlock’s outburst.’

Greg gives an involuntary grin, thinking back. _I must apologise for my brother’s outburst, Detective Sergeant._ The first words Mycroft ever spoke to him. He’d been unwittingly hooked ever since. Well, he can’t look like much more of a fool. He takes a deep breath. ‘What Sherlock said, about you pining. Is that true?’

Mycroft looks discomforted. ‘It is, but I assure you, you are under no obligation to do anything in response. My driver will be happy to take you wherever you like.’

Greg gives a thoughtful nod. ‘Well, in that case unless you’ve got a pressing engagement after this, I would very much like it if your driver took both of us back to my flat.’ A second later reality hits. They’re sitting in a commandeered flat having just sold bogus intelligence to Mossad. Of course Mycroft is going to have a pressing engagement after this. His thoughts must be visible on his face because Mycroft places a reassuring hand on his arm. 

‘Gregory, I would like nothing more than to accompany you back to your flat.’

Relief hits Greg and it’s all he can do not to jump Mycroft right then and there. He leans over instead and whispers in his ear. ‘I hope you’ve not got a busy day planned for tomorrow. I’m _hungry,_ Mycroft.’ He lets a little of his need slip into his voice. Mycroft swallows. 

Anthea breaks in at this point. ‘Sir, the car is waiting for you downstairs. I will have a team clear this place tonight and begin processing Murchison. I won’t expect you in til midday tomorrow and I will inform Detective Inspector Lestrade’s superiors that he is still on secondment until then.’

Mycroft shoots her a look that seems half annoyance, half gratitude. ‘Thank you Anthea. I shall see you at midday.’

Greg stands and Mycroft follows him, both of them walking as sedately as possibly out of the flat. It seems Sherlock and John left whilst Greg was distracted. 

The car ride back to Greg’s flat is tense. They don’t look at each other. The walk up to the flat is full of suppressed urgency and Greg’s hand shakes as he unlocks the door.

Once inside the desperation seems to ebb. They’ve made it, they’re here and it’s only a matter of time before the hunger they both feel is sated. Greg doesn’t know quite what to do now. He’s done this hundreds of times with people, some important, some not so, but this is the first time there’s been such a weight of longing and desire behind it. He’s suddenly nervous. ‘Um, do you want a drink?’

Mycroft swings round to face him. ‘Gregory,’ he says and oh god, that purr is even more provocative close to. ‘I have been imagining this since the first time we met, whilst you were with that dreadful woman. I have thought a thousand times of how you will feel beneath me. I am a tiger, Gregory, and it has been all I can do not to make you my prey. Cats enjoy the best things in life and you are _divine._ ’ Mycroft’s scent expands with every word, filling Greg’s body with anticipation.

His throat is dry and it takes him a couple of seconds before he can speak. ‘Bedroom,’ he gasps at last. ‘Bedroom now.’ He doesn’t wait for Mycroft to move by himself, instead grabbing his hand and pulling him along. They stumble through the bedroom door and Greg tugs at Mycroft’s jacket trying to pull it off and get closer to him. Mycroft pushes him back. 

‘Get undressed, I’ll sort myself out.’

Greg feels frantic, he’s so close having Mycroft for himself and ending the hunger that’s been dragging at him for days. Mycroft too looks wild, throwing his clothes on to the bedroom chair without a thought to how they will crease. When Mycroft finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pulls it off Greg can’t stop himself any longer. He grabs for Mycroft’s head, pulling him down into their first kiss.

It’s a gritty, glorious, bruising effort. They’re biting more than kissing, lips and teeth and tongues tangling. Greg almost cries as he feels the first waves of energy begin to fill his famished body.  
They fall to their sides on the bed, still kissing, hips beginning to writhe against each other, hands moving and grasping. Greg moans as Mycroft’s hands make it into the back of his trousers and push them down his legs. He tries to return the favour, fumbling with the button and fly, desperate to get them free. Mycroft removes his hands from Greg’s trousers and rolls them both over, pulling Greg’s arms above his head and pinning them to the bed as he does. Greg growls in frustration and Mycroft chuckles in reply.

‘Don’t worry, you’ll get what you need.’ He shifts to hold both Greg’s hands with one of his and uses the other to free his trousers and push them down. Greg pulls sightly, half-heartedly attempting to free his hands with most of his attention on Mycroft’s actions. 

Mycroft gazes at him with hot, intense eyes. ‘It’s a pity you had to leave your handcuffs with Murchison.’ At the though, Greg can’t help but let out a whine. ‘Next time.’ Mycroft assures him with a wicked smirk.

His first glimpse of Mycroft’s cock is enough to convince him that the old adage about big noses and long fingers is true. That, Greg thinks, is a work of art. It’s not until he hears Mycroft’s purring laugh that he realises he said that aloud.

‘Thank you Gregory. I must say, the sight of you _en déshabillé_ is delightful to behold.’ He kisses Greg, more gently this time but still with a hint of teeth. Greg gives as good as he gets and he’s soon pulling at his constrained hands in earnest, pushing up against Mycroft’s slimmer hips at the same time. He wants to be free to touch, to run his hands over the miles of smooth skin usually hidden beneath layers of fabric, to move his head down and bury his face in Mycroft’s neck, taste where that wonderful scent comes from. He moans; he can’t get free, an underfed incubus is no match for an adult tiger shifter in either form. 

He can feel his cock begin to leak against Mycroft’s pelvic bone, the slight scratch of hair driving him half out of his mind with sensation, the angle just wrong to rub against Mycroft’s cock.. Mycroft’s free hand is roaming over his chest, tangling though the hair, running over his ribs and reaching every now and again to pinch and flick at a nipple. The energy between them is electric, filling Greg even as he longs for more. He wants to wrap a leg around Mycroft’s hips, pull him closer but the tangle of his trousers still partway down his thighs prevents that. He feels bound, trapped in the face of Mycroft’s desire and the thought sends a rush of heat through him. He cries out, moving his hips faster, tearing his mouth from Mycroft’s as he cries Mycroft’s name.

Mycroft responds with a brief kiss to his lips before moving to his throat. ‘Oh, Gregory, I imagined this so many time but the reality surpasses my thoughts in every way.’ His hand moves from Greg’s chest to his mouth. ‘Lick this, get my fingers nice and wet.’

Greg does his best, sucking and laving them thoroughly, hoping against hope that Mycroft will take him in hand.

Mycroft does one better. His long fingers wrap round both their cocks, damp heads nudging in the cradle of his palm. The friction is dry despite Greg’s best efforts, only just enough moisture to keep from discomfort. The sensation is indescribably brilliant, fireworks and thunder in Greg’s head. Mycroft’s hand twists, sliding up their lengths to collect some pre-come before smoothing back down to the base. Greg can hear himself letting out panting sobs, breath hitching as he nears release. It’s been so long since he fed properly, sex and intimacy and emotion all together. As Mycroft brings his hand to circle the heads once again, Greg can’t take it any more, pleasure and need reaching a crescendo and spilling out, flowing over and through him, the physical proof making the last few slides of Mycroft’s hand slick and easy. As he begins to come down from his orgasm he can feel the energy from Mycroft reach a peak as he too finds his release, crying out Greg’s name as he comes.

They lie together in the wreckage of the bed, breathing and hearts slowing. Greg rolls to reach Mycroft’s lips, pecking once, twice before going in for a deeper kiss. Mycroft kisses back, sleepy satisfaction and possession emanating from him in waves.

They drift for a while in a limbo of sensation, trading gentle kisses and caresses back and forth. Eventually Mycroft pulls back, looking at Greg with mock seriousness. ‘Well, Detective Inspector, I hope that has satisfied your needs. I wouldn’t want to leave you still hungry.’

Greg looks at him, amused and fond. ‘In that case Mr Holmes, I hope you’ve not got any immediate plans. That was barely the starter.’ He moves closer once again to whisper into the crook of Mycroft’s neck. ‘This time, I want to taste you all over.’ He begins to move down Mycroft’s chest.

******

It’s mid-morning before they wake, tangled round each other and faintly sticky. Greg feels pleasantly sore and exquisitely full, no trace of hunger remaining. He can’t even imagine eating breakfast. Well, perhaps a cup of coffee. But for the moment not even the lure of coffee can drag him away from Mycroft. It still seems slightly unreal that he’s in bed with the man he’s been lusting and longing after for so long. 

Beside him Mycroft begins to stir. His thin lips still look a little bruised from the activities of last night. Greg can’t quite hold back the helpless, giddy pleasure of knowing that Mycroft will go to his office with signs that Greg was there, out in the open for the world to see. The rest of the marks, scratches and bites and light bruises will all be hidden beneath the suits. Greg knows that he himself will be wearing similar marks when he shows up at New Scotland Yard.

Mycroft’s eyes open and he smiles as Greg. ‘Good morning Gregory. What time is it?’

Greg leans over to check the bedside clock. ‘’Bout 10.30. Why, you got somewhere to be?’

Mycroft hums. ‘I suppose I should put in an appearance at the office at some point, now that you’re properly fed.’

An edge of cold creeps into Greg’s mind. He almost can’t bring himself to ask but it would be better to know sooner rather than later. ‘Was last night just because I hadn’t fed in a while?’ Mycroft said he’d been interested in him for a while, but interested doesn’t have to mean more than a one night stand to see if the reality lives up to the fantasy.

He thought he hid his distress at the idea, but obviously not that well he thinks as Mycroft’s head snaps round to face him. ‘No Gregory, last night was the culmination of years of interest in you as a person and pleasure in your company. Whilst it may have been brought to a head due to you not having fed in a while I assure you that I have been seeking excuses to speak to you and spend time with you. I don’t imagine it would have been much longer before one of us made the first move into something more than friends.’

Reassured, Greg leans over to give him a closed mouth kiss, then pulls back. ‘Then how come you never made a move before?’

The look he receives in response is exasperated. ‘You said yourself Gregory, how many people think that as an incubus you will sleep with anyone? I didn’t want you assuming I was merely after you for the fantastic sex. I was hoping that you would make the first move, but my patience was beginning to wear thin.’ The last words have an edge to them.

Greg knows the wide grin on his face must make him look foolish. ‘In that case, may I be the first to ask if you want some coffee and possibly breakfast too?’

Mycroft gives a noise of assent. ‘That sounds marvellous. And may I in turn be the first to ask if you would like to have dinner with me this evening, with no intention of discussing Sherlock, Mossad or any other of a dozen reasons I’ve come up with to talk to you in the past?’

He takes Greg’s enthusiastic kisses and the forgotten idea of coffee as a resounding yes.


End file.
